A Nightmare on M Street
by dnachemlia
Summary: Written for the NFA "And Then..." Challenge. An event from Tim's past comes back to haunt him. Literally.
1. Prologue

**A Nightmare on M Street**

Written for the "And Then…" Challenge, which was to write a story based on the beginning line of a famous novel.

Rating: Strong FR-15/T for disturbing subject matter

Genre: Supernatural/Horror (duh)

Not a crossover, but somewhat inspired by the movie from which the title was drawn.

Characters: Tim and the rest of the MCRT, including Ducky, Abby, and Palmer; various OCs. Set before the end of Season 9

Disclaimer: Recognizable characters are not mine. Special thanks to DinaLori for the beta.

Summary: An event from Tim's past comes back to haunt him. Literally.

* * *

_Like the brief doomed flare of exploding suns that registers dimly on blind men's eyes,_

_the beginning of the horror passed almost unnoticed._

_~ The Exorcist: William Peter Blatty_

_**Prologue**_

The execution of a Death Row inmate was carried out on March 13, 2012 at the Florida State Prison, seemingly without any of the problems that potentially accompany such an event.

One week prior, the inmate received a clean bill of health and was officially placed on Death Watch, the irony of which escaped almost no one involved in the proceedings, but went generally unnoticed by the public at large. The days leading to the execution garnered the expected amount of media attention. Both proponents and opponents of the Death Penalty gave their normal speeches to members of the press as they staged demonstrations outside the facility in Starke, although the opponents were fewer in number than they had been for previous executions. Meanwhile, in the comfort of well-lit broadcast news studios, pundits discussed the ramifications of the continued use of such a punishment as families of the victims provided their own views. Their statements were accompanied both by anger that the final step had taken nearly twenty-three years from the time the man was first arrested, and relief that the nightmare was finally over.

The preparation of the prisoner for his impending death was also routine, although the traditional last meal was refused. The fact was dutifully recorded for those who found interest in such morbid details, and while some speculation was made, no one proposed any hidden meaning behind the abstinence.

The chemicals required for the procedure were carefully prepared by members of the execution team: mixed, drawn into eight syringes, and placed in their appropriate slots, ready for when they would be introduced into the intravenous lines in the prisoner's arms. The placement of those lines was carried out quickly and efficiently, and the saline solution soon flowed into the prisoner's veins as the heart monitor was placed and the final countdown began.

The phones were tested to make sure they were working properly in the unlikely chance that the governor would call to stop the execution. As expected, that call was never made.

The twelve official and four alternate witnesses—mostly the victims' families—along with twelve designated members of the press, a member of the medical staff, a security officer, the public affairs representative, and a designated staff member were led into the observation chamber. After they were seated, the room was secured before the window was uncovered to give full view of the execution chamber and the prisoner strapped to the gurney inside the small room. The PA system was turned on, allowing the prisoner to give his final words, but he remained silent.

The warden turned off the PA and gave the signal for the execution to begin. The first dose of sodium pentothal was administered, rendering the prisoner unconscious. Alternating with saline, pancuronium bromide and potassium chloride were administered, paralyzing the prisoner and finally, as indicated by the flatline on the monitor, stopping his heart. The attending physician confirmed and noted the time of death, which was then relayed to the governor over the phone, and then to the witnesses over the PA with an official statement.

"The sentence of the State of Florida vs. Gregory Wayne Talbot has been carried out at 9:13 PM."

Out of sight of the witnesses, mortuary attendants transferred the body to a body bag on another gurney and then transported the body to Alachua County for autopsy. While the witnesses may have been sickened or relieved by what they had seen, the attendants were rather nonplussed. They had seen death plenty of times before, and whether it was state sponsored or not, in the end everyone was treated the same. It was all part of their routine.

If they had paid a little more attention, they may have noticed the cruel, twisted smile adorning the dead prisoner's face.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

_***four days earlier***_

Tim McGee stepped off the elevator and walked towards his desk with a hint of a smile on his face. It was almost the weekend-for which the MCRT was not on call—and the case that had been vexing them for the past few days was finally over. All that was left was the ubiquitous paperwork and, arriving half an hour earlier than normal, he hoped to have that out of the way by noon at the latest. Provided they didn't receive another call-out, of course. If all went according to plan, he would have the weekend to catch up on some much-needed sleep and finally start reading the novel he'd been meaning to begin for the past three months.

He quickly settled in at his desk and pulled up his case notes as he started filling out the required forms, pausing every so often to check facts and figures. Tim took some pride in producing documents that would be iron-clad in court and would provide one less worry for the agency: they need not be concerned about losing a case due to technical error, at least not if he had any say in the matter.

He had been working in relative silence for nearly an hour before the other members of his team made themselves known. Gibbs passed by without a word and settled in at his own desk, while Tony and Ziva arrived a few minutes later, their normal banter barely penetrating his consciousness. It wasn't until a wad of paper landed on his keyboard that Tim looked up from his computer and toward the person who had obviously thrown the offending object.

"What?"

"Finally! I've been trying to get your attention for the last five minutes. What are you doing?"

"I'm _working_, Tony, on the case report. What do you want?"

"What's the rush? You have plans for the weekend?"

"Maybe. Or maybe I just don't want to be stuck here until midnight finishing this, unlike some people will be." He heard Ziva's appreciative snort of laughter and barely hid his own smile.

"I do my best work at night, Probie, but that's not the point. You need to be more aware of your surroundings, McGee. You're too focused – might miss the bigger picture."

Tim sighed. "I'm doing what I need to be doing. You should try it."

Tony just laughed. "Oh, I know what I need to be doing, McGee."

"Apparently not, DiNozzo. Get back to work," Gibbs growled and Tony ducked instinctively, eliciting another snort from Ziva. She quickly quieted when she received a glare from Gibbs as well.

Tim resumed his task with a shake of his head and the relative silence returned as his team started their own reports. Another hour passed before the quiet was interrupted by the ringing of Tim's desk phone. He automatically reached for it and put the receiver to his ear.

"McGee."

"_I need to see you in my office, immediately."_

Tim's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Director Vance, what-?"

"_Now, McGee." _

"Yes, sir." He returned the receiver to its cradle and rose from his seat, turning to Gibbs as he did so. "The director needs to see me."

"You been hacking again, McGee?" Tony asked with a grin. "One of these days…"

Tim ignored him and headed for the stairs, unsurprised to hear Gibbs follow. He tried to think of what could have irritated the Director enough to warrant a summons but nothing came to mind.

When he reached the office, Pamela instructed him to go straight in as she sent Gibbs a perturbed look. The lead agent was right on Tim's heels as he opened the door and stepped inside. He immediately saw the Director standing behind his desk, facing a man who had his back to the door.

"Director Vance, I—"

"I believe I requested Agent McGee's presence, Agent Gibbs. Not yours," Vance growled as he glared at the older man. "This does not immediately concern you." He stepped out from behind his desk as the other man turned to face the two agents. He gave Tim a sympathetic smile.

"Agent McGee, I'm sorry to pull you away from your work, but we need your help." He glanced at Gibbs. "Just your help, not your team. I'm afraid this needs to be a private conversation."

"What's this about?" Gibbs asked before Tim could respond.

The man said nothing and Vance moved to stand between Tim and Gibbs. "As I said, nothing that concerns you. I believe you know where to find the door."

Gibbs gave Vance one of his famous glares, but the director was unmoved. Finally he turned and left, shutting the door with a little more vehemence than necessary.

"What is this about?" Tim finally managed to ask. "And who are you?"

"Forgive me, I'm forgetting my manners. I'm Paul Brighton, Assistant District Attorney. From Florida. I'm here regarding Gregory Wayne Talbot."

Tim felt the blood drain from his face and barely managed to keep himself upright. He hadn't wanted to even _think_ about that man for years, and now…

"He…he didn't escape, did he?"

"No. He's still on Death Row. In fact his execution has been scheduled for next week. Tuesday."

"So…what does this have to do with…?"

"Perhaps we should sit down," Brighton said as he waved a hand towards the conference table. He turned to Vance, and after a brief moment of silent communication the director nodded before joining them at the table.

Tim numbly made his way to one of the chairs and carefully lowered himself into it before returning his attention to Brighton.

"What's going on?"

Brighton sighed and seemed to consider his words carefully before he finally spoke. "You may already be aware of this, but the body of Talbot's final victim, Michelle Sumner, has never been found. He was questioned repeatedly concerning her whereabouts, but for the last twenty-three years he has refused to reveal her location. His appeals finally ran out a little over a week ago, and he was put on Death Watch. He used his legal phone call to tell his lawyer that he would finally give up her location, but only to one specific person."

Tim's stomach did a slow uneasy roll. "Me."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Brighton turned to Vance. "Agent McGee was instrumental in both Talbot's apprehension and later conviction. Talbot stated that he would tell 'the boy who brought me down'."

"I'm guessing he's not willing to relay that information over the phone."

"No, he insists on a face-to-face meeting." Brighton returned his attention to Tim. "Somehow the family got wind of his request, how I don't know, and they've been pressuring the DA's office to comply. Since your identity was protected during the trial, they had no way to contact you directly. My office sent me to retrieve you."

"And what if this is some…game?" Tim took a deep breath and continued. "I know Talbot had some…supporters. Maybe he's just trying to get that information to them."

"We considered that. We've arranged for you to 'fly under the radar', so to speak. My office has been assured complete discretion by the warden, and we've worked out a way to get you past the press at the prison. No one else will know."

"Mr. Brighton, you and I both know these things can never be kept completely secret. I'm not as concerned for my own safety as I am for other members of my family who are more vulnerable. I can take care of myself, but..."

"Believe me, I understand your concern, and I give you my personal guarantee that we will do everything we can to protect them, should the need arise, but I don't think it will. The 'supporters' appear to have moved on: Talbot hasn't received any mail or other attempts at communication for years. He's as isolated as he can be right now." Brighton met Tim's gaze. "Michelle Sumner's family deserves closure. You can give them that. Help bring her home to her family. It's the right thing to do."

Tim closed his eyes as he fought for control over his fear. He told himself that what Brighton was saying made sense, and that he was right: the family did deserve to have closure.

"I have your word, if anything should happen—"

"We'll protect you, and your family."

"And if they don't, we will," Vance added. "I'll sign off on the leave time, and deal with your team, Agent McGee."

"Thank you, Director. Alright, I'll do it. When do you need me to be there?"

"I can take you back with me now, and we can get this over with. Do you need to go home to pack, or-?"

"I have a go-bag in my car."

"Good." Brighton rose from his chair as Tim and Vance did the same. He offered his hand to Vance who shook it, albeit briefly. "Thank you for your help, Director." Vance merely nodded and Brighton turned to Tim. "I'll meet you out front, Agent McGee." He left the office.

"Director, I—"

"You're doing the right thing, Agent McGee, but I meant what I said. Any sign of trouble…"

"You'll be the first to know."

Vance smiled. "No, I imagine I'll be the second." Tim blushed slightly but nodded.

"I guess I better tell Gibbs. Thank you, Director."

"Good luck, Agent McGee."

As soon as Tim left the office he was met by the obviously irate lead agent.

"McGee—"

"Your office, I know." He followed Gibbs to the elevator. The doors had barely closed before Gibbs flipped the emergency stop switch and turned to Tim.

"What's going on?"

Tim sighed as he struggled to decide where to start.

"Do you remember Kyle Boone?" He caught Gibbs' expression and flinched. "Of course you do. I, uh…I'm dealing with my own Kyle Boone."

"I don't remember you catching any serial killers, McGee, at least not without the rest of the team."

"This was before I joined the team, Boss. I was just a witness, but…it was because of me he was caught."

"Who?"

"Gregory Wayne Talbot. He was operating in Florida in the mid to late 80's. He—"

"Killed 15 women, yeah, I remember."

"His last victim, her body was never found, and—"

"He wants to tell you where she is."

"Yeah."

"You sure this isn't a game?"

"I thought of that, believe me, especially after… But the ADA insists it's legit."

Gibbs leaned back against the elevator and studied his agent. "You're not sure."

"Honestly, I don't know, Boss. Talbot, he's… I hate to say it, but from what I remember, he's worse than Boone. A _lot_ worse. But if this gives the family some chance at closure…"

"Yeah, I get it. Watch your back, McGee. Stuff like this…"

"It never ends well, I know. They've guaranteed my safety, and my family, but—"

"You don't want him inside your head. Don't let him get to you, McGee. You're stronger than that."

Tim managed a weak smile. "Thanks, Boss."

Gibbs returned the smile and lightly cuffed him on the shoulder before his expression sobered. "When?"

"I'm on my way now. Vance already signed off on it, and—"

"I'll deal with the rest of the team."

"Please don't tell them, Boss. This isn't something I want getting out."

Gibbs nodded. "Understood." He flipped the switch and the elevator descended to the bullpen. When the doors opened, Gibbs turned to him. "Good luck, Tim."

"Thanks, Boss." He caught a glimpse of Tony and Ziva's expressions as Gibbs stepped out and the door closed. He didn't envy Gibbs the job of keeping his secret, but trusted him to do so. At least that was one thing about which he wouldn't have to worry.

Tim sighed and leaned back against the wall of the elevator as it made its descent to the garage. _So much for weekend plans_. Instead of a couple of quiet days at home, he was now on his way to Florida…to meet with a monster.


	3. Chapter 2

A Nightmare on M Street

Chapter 2

After Tim retrieved his bag from his car he made his way to the front entrance where Brighton was waiting. Tim was surprised when they headed out of the city towards northern Virginia instead of Reagan National Airport. Forty-five minutes later they arrived at Manassas Regional Airport.

"I didn't have time to go through the vetting process to fly into a closer airport," Brighton explained when Tim questioned his choice of destination.

"You flew up here? Why not take a commercial flight?"

"Trust me, this was easier to arrange. Don't worry, I've been flying planes almost as long as I've been driving. Dad owns a flight school in Jacksonville. I'll get us there in one piece," he promised with a grin.

"OK…"

Soon they reached Brighton's plane, a Piper Seneca V, and once Tim was settled in the passenger section Brighton completed the final checks and climbed into the pilot's seat.

"We'll be cruising at a lower altitude than a commercial flight," Brighton explained as he adjusted his headset, "so you'll have a better view. It will take a bit longer, though. Just sit back and enjoy the ride."

"Doubt that," Tim muttered as he fastened his seat belt. He'd never flown in a private plane before but the novelty was overshadowed by the job he'd have once they reached their destination. He decided to get as much information as he could to mentally prepare himself for the meeting, if that was even possible.

"What do you know about Talbot?" Tim called out to Brighton just before he started the engine.

"Other than what was in the original case report, not a lot," Brighton replied, his voiced raised over the drone of the engine. "The prison hasn't reported any real trouble with him, although apparently the guards don't like him at all. They say he gives them the creeps."

"I can understand that."

"I've only spoken to him once, when he made the offer to reveal the location of Michelle Sumner's remains." He paused, obviously uncomfortable. "I'd not care to repeat the experience."

"Why? Well, other than the obvious?"

"He…I can't really articulate it. The entire time I was speaking to him, there was just this sense…" Brighton shook his head. "I've encountered a lot of criminals, read descriptions of their depravity, but Talbot was the first one I've met that I'd have to genuinely classify as…evil."

Tim felt a familiar chill creep down his spine. He understood completely what Brighton meant but he tried to hide it.

"Sick and twisted, right? A complete psychopath."

"Yeah, that's a given, considering what he did," Brighton replied, "but just being in the same room with him? I was never so glad to leave a place in my life." He turned and looked at Tim. "Sorry, you probably don't need to hear this."

"No, it's OK. I need to be prepared, right?"

"Yeah…right." Brighton returned his attention to the controls and pointed the plane towards the runway. Tim leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. More than anything else, he just wanted to get this over with and get back to his version of normal.

XXX

Nearly four hours later they landed at Deep Forest Airport, east of Jacksonville. A delivery van was waiting to take them to the prison in Starke, much to Tim's surprise, and Brighton hurried to explain.

"There's a lot of press around the prison right now, so we figured we'd bring you in the back way so you won't be seen and to maintain your privacy. I don't imagine you want to show up on the 6 o'clock news."

"No, definitely not."

The ride to the prison itself was relatively silent. Brighton spent his time reading over his notes, and the driver made no comments at all. Tim continued to try and prepare himself for the meeting ahead.

_It's been over twenty-three years. You were just a kid. He's not the boogeyman you thought he was back then. Don't let him get to you…_

It took over an hour to reach the prison. Tim's view was limited, but he could see it was a sprawling facility surrounded by fences topped with curls of razor wire. As they passed under the metal arch which bore the name of the prison, he saw several groups of protestors, their actions dutifully being recorded by the press.

"Little thinner crown than usual," the driver noted. "Especially the Antis. Guess maybe this time even they realize the bastard deserves what's coming to him."

Brighton chuckled. "Yeah, maybe." He turned to Tim and noticed the apprehension on his face. "You OK?"

"Yeah. Just remembering the last time I went to a prison without my team. I got caught up in a riot. It wasn't pleasant."

"I'm guessing that's an understatement."

"You could say that."

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that here. Security's pretty tight."

The van soon reached the loading area at the back of the prison, out of sight of the press. A corrections officer and a woman in a dark suit were waiting for them.

"The warden and chief of security," Brighton explained. "They're not all that happy with the situation, but they'll make sure it goes as smoothly as possible."

Tim nodded, not trusting himself to speak as the apprehension he'd been fighting to contain threatened to overwhelm him. After the van was brought to a halt the two passengers climbed out and were approached by the warden.

"This is the witness?" she asked, and Brighton nodded. She held out her hand to Tim and he shook it with little enthusiasm, which caused her to give him a sympathetic smile. "I'm Warden Parker. I wish we were meeting under more pleasant circumstances. Talbot is in the interview room. He insisted in meeting with you alone, and we've taken as many precautions for your safety as possible. He's restrained by both wrist and leg irons and the chair is bolted to the floor. We ask that you not approach beyond the table we have set up for you. A guard will be right outside the door, and both Talbot's lawyer and Mr. Brighton will be observing though our closed-circuit system. Any questions?"

"No, ma'am."

"Good." She nodded to the security chief and he quickly patted both men down, frowning when he reached Tim's ankle. Tim blushed.

"Sorry, I forgot." He removed the knife sheath and handed it to the officer. "Rule number nine." The man quirked an eyebrow at him. "My boss: his rules. Always carry a knife."

"Obviously one you can't follow here. Any other weapons?"

"No." Tim mentally slapped himself. He'd been so worried about his task he'd completely forgotten about that particular accessory.

"Good. Follow me." The security chief led them past the loading area, observed by only one other guard, and through a maze of corridors until they reached the interview room. Through the window Tim could see a man in an orange jumpsuit seated on the far side of a metal table, his hands out of sight. Tim took a minute to collect himself and to study the prisoner. Talbot's dark brown hair had stared to grey at the temples, and he bore the pallor of years of confinement, but otherwise he looked just as Tim remembered from the last time he had seen him in person. Tim took a deep breath and nodded to the guard, who opened the door and allowed him to enter the room. Talbot looked up at Tim as he stepped through the doorway and a smile spread across the older man's face, causing every hair on the back of Tim's neck to stand straight up. The expression in Talbot's hazel eyes was predatory but when he spoke it was with the tone of a man greeting an old friend.

"Well, well, well, look who we have here. Little Timmy McGee, all grown up."

Tim froze. The man wasn't supposed to know his name. _How…?_

Talbot chuckled. "Don't look so surprised, Timmy. I have my ways of getting information. In fact, I'm quite sure I'm much better informed than you."

Tim fought the desire to turn and run. He felt like he was nine years old again, facing the monster that had haunted his dreams for months after he had witnessed the man's brutality. Suddenly, Gibbs' words penetrated his fear.

_You don't want him inside your head. Don't let him get to you, McGee. You're stronger than that._

Tim took a deep breath and schooled his features into a neutral expression as he managed to bring himself under control again.

"I understand you wish to share some information with me regarding the location of Michelle Sumner."

Talbot chuckled again. "What, no foreplay?"

Tim stood silently, meeting Talbot's terrifying gaze and once again fighting the urge to turn tail and run. He didn't quite understand the effect the man was having on him, but the response was almost primal.

Talbot continued to stare at him for several moments before he shook his head with another chilling laugh. "Have a seat, Timmy. Or should I say Special Agent McGee of NCIS, computer forensics expert extraordinaire? Or maybe Thom E. Gemcity, best-selling author of the _Deep Six_ series? You've been a busy little boy, Timmy."

"Apparently, so have you," Tim responded dryly, causing Talbot to throw back his head and howl with laughter.

"That I have. I imagine right now ADA Brighton is ripping my lawyer a new one for giving me intel, but the truth is he had nothing to do with it. I have my own ways of getting information: nothing so pedestrian as a loose-lipped lawyer. But don't worry, it's for my benefit only. I haven't shared with anyone else. Well, until now." He grinned at Tim again. "Have a seat, Timmy. We have a lot to discuss."

"Since you know my name, you may address me as Special Agent McGee," Tim replied as he lowered himself into his seat. "I'm no longer a child."

"Yes, I can see that. Tell me, how long did it take for the nightmares to stop after you witnessed my…activities?"

Tim ignored the question. "Tell _me_ the location of Michelle Sumner's body. Now."

"Patience, Timmy. I'll get to that. Are you sure you wouldn't like to know about my 'motivations'? The other federal officers who have been to see me certainly were interested in that. Profilers, I believe they're called. They spent so much time talking to me, looking for the reasons behind my actions. As if there were any other than the obvious."

"Obvious?" Tim asked, and mentally kicked himself. _Don't play his game._

Talbot sent him another chilling grin. "Because it was _fun_."

Tim barely managed to control the surge of anger he felt. While he had been too young to really understand at the time, he had looked up information on the case later, and he was all too aware of the hell the families of Talbot's victims had experienced.

"I'm sure there are plenty who would disagree with your idea of fun."

"Oh, I'm sure. Their loss. Oh wait, that's probably why they would disagree, isn't it?"

Tim clenched his teeth and silently counted to ten. "Her location."

"Now who's not being fun? Are you sure you don't want to know more about what I did to her?"

"No. I witnessed that already, remember?"

"Yes, you did, but not all. Only the kill itself, not what I did afterwards. You weren't there when I carved her up like a Thanksgiving turkey and…" He leaned forward and smiled. "Ate her giblets."

This time Tim had to fight back a surge of nausea. He had known that there was evidence of cannibalism in the bodies of Talbot's other victims, as well as at the man's home when it was searched. Hearing it first hand from the man was a different story.

"I'm going to ask you one last time: where is Michelle Sumner's body?" he demanded, but he couldn't keep the strain he was feeling out of his voice completely.

Talbot gave a theatrical sigh. "Oh, all right. She's on Big Talbot Island." He chuckled. "I'm surprised no one's figured it out already. I thought it would be obvious."

"Where, exactly?"

"Northern end, about 200 yards inland from the north. I put all the remaining pieces in a garbage bag and buried it inside a trunk. It should still be there, unless something else got hungry and curious."

"They'll be confirming this, you know."

"Yes, I know, but it's the truth. No point in holding off any longer, since I'm about to make my final trip. Sure you don't want to stick around to watch, Timmy? I'll put on a show, just for you."

"No."

"Pity."

Tim rose from his seat. "The family will appreciate that you gave me the information so they can have the chance for closure. Personally, I think you can go straight to Hell."

"I'm sure they'd welcome me there with open arms."

Tim turned to leave but paused when Talbot called out to him.

"Oh, Timmy, one more thing."

"What?"

"Sweet dreams."

Tim just shook his head and walked to the door, which opened just as he reached it. He chanced one look back and saw Talbot still grinning at him. The man winked when he saw Tim's gaze. Tim quickly turned and headed down the hall back towards the exit, stopping when he heard Brighton call out to him.

"Agent McGee, wait!"

Tim did, but only long enough for Brighton and the security chief to catch up. As soon as they reached him he began walking again at a slightly faster pace. Brighton kept up with him and started to fill him in.

"State police are on their way to the site. They should be able to confirm that at least something is there by tomorrow morning at the latest. We've arranged for you to stay at a safe house, and—"

"I want to go back to D.C. as soon as possible."

"Of course. I'll speak to the U.S. Marshall's office—"

"I'm not going to need witness protection. You heard Talbot: he only wanted that information to put me off balance. He didn't tell anyone else."

"How can you be sure?"

Tim let out a soft, humorless chuckle. "My gut."

Soon the reached the exit and the security chief returned Tim's knife, which he strapped to his ankle. Another delivery van arrived and Brighton guided Tim inside. Once they were seated and the van was on its way, the ADA turned to Tim.

"You handled that very well, Agent McGee. That was—"

"Horrible. But it's over. As soon as they find the body, I'm going home."

"If you insist. In the meantime, we'll find out how Talbot got his information on you. I'm not letting his lawyer off the hook that easily."

Tim said nothing. All he wanted was to put as much distance between himself and Talbot as possible.

The van stopped at a warehouse, where a sedan waited to take Tim to his lodging for the night. Once he was settled in his room, he immediately went and took a steaming hot shower, scrubbing his body thoroughly in an attempt to wash away the contamination he felt from being in Talbot's presence. After he finished he got dressed and waited by the phone for Brighton to call, confirming that the state police had found what they were looking for.

It was dark by the time he received the call and Brighton arrived with take-out soon after. He convinced Tim to spend the night at the safe house, promising to take him back to D.C. in the morning.

After a sleepless night, Tim was taken back to the municipal airport and once again boarded the small plane that would take him back to D.C. Brighton informed him that no leak had yet been found for the information Talbot had obtained but they would continue to look into it.

Tim spent the next few days on edge, a condition that was noticed by Gibbs, who asked him in private if he was OK, and by Tony, who commented that Tim's "vacation" hadn't done him much good. Tim ignored the jibe, as usual, and focused on his work as a way to deal with the tension he was feeling.

He was at work late that Tuesday, after everyone else, including Gibbs, had gone home. He waited for the phone call that arrived at 9:14 PM and slumped slightly in relief when he heard a repeat of the announcement from the Death Chamber. Feeling as though a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders, he gathered up his things and went home, hoping for the sleep that had escaped him for the past few days. It was finally over. Everything would soon be back to normal.

Right?


	4. Chapter 3

_***one week later***_

Tony stepped off the elevator and headed towards his desk, unsurprised to find that McGee had beaten him to work once again. He started to comment on the younger man's habit but paused we he got a good look at him. McGee was paler than normal, with dark circles under his eyes that seemed to be getting even more prominent as the days passed. Tony briefly wondered if McGee was coming down with something and decided to cut the man a break.

"Morning, McGee."

McGee ignored him, not an uncommon occurrence. This time, however, there was something off about how he was acting. Usually he would be typing away, his fingers practically flying over the keys, but instead he was simply staring at the screen, his hands poised over the keyboard and unmoving. Tony walked over to McGee's desk and leaned over to see what he was staring at. It turned out to be a word document full of gibberish.

"Well now I've seen everything. Only you would sleep-type, Probie."

McGee still didn't respond so Tony head-slapped him. McGee nearly jumped out of his seat in response, and when he was aware enough to see who had delivered the blow he glared at the senior agent with a depth of anger that surprised the older man.

"Whoa, McGrouchy! What's your problem?"

"Was that necessary?" McGee growled and Tony's grin vanished, replaced with a near equal level of annoyance.

"Just keeping you out of trouble. Any idea of what Gibbs would do to you if he caught you sleeping at your desk like that?"

"I wasn't sleeping."

"Could have fooled me."

Tim sighed as his anger faded, only to be replaced by weariness. "What do you want, Tony?"

"Just trying to figure out what's wrong with you lately. You haven't been acting like the McGeek we all know and…tolerate for over a week."

"I've had a lot on my mind."

"I noticed. Does this have anything to do with your little vacation?"

Tim didn't answer right away and Tony was about to press the issue further when he was interrupted by the arrival of Ziva, looking decidedly annoyed herself.

"I could not _believe_ the traffic this morning!" she announced as she dropped her bag next to her desk. "I…" She paused when she caught sight of the younger man. "McGee? Are you all right?"

"Fine, Ziva. I'm fine."

"No he isn't. I caught him asleep at the keyboard this morning. With his eyes open, no less."

"I wasn't sleeping. I just zoned out for a minute."

"Trust me, McGee, you were asleep."

"No, I wasn't."

"Yes, you were."

"Was not."

"Was too. Ow! Thanks, Boss."

"Quit arguing and gear up," Gibbs growled, but he too stopped when he caught sight of McGee. "Are you OK, Tim?"

McGee blushed. "Fine, Boss. Tony's just being…"

"Tony," Ziva finished. "But you do not look well, McGee. Are you coming down with something?"

"No, I'm fine." He stood and slung his backpack of his shoulder. "Where to, Boss?"

"Rock Creek Park."

"Of course," Tony groused as they all headed for the elevator.

The case appeared to be a suicide, and the team spent the rest of the day finding and interviewing those closest to the dead petty officer. McGee uncovered a few discrepancies in the victim's financial records, several investments requiring more cash than would have been available on an officer's salary, which pointed them in a different direction, and they were still hard at work as the clock ticked towards the end of the work day. By the time 1800 rolled around, McGee was noticeably dragging, although he still claimed he was fine. Gibbs finally instructed Tony and McGee to go get dinner for the team, and when Tony caught the look Gibbs gave him, he nodded in understanding. _Get Probie to talk._

"So, McGee," Tony began as he guided his car out of the Yard and towards their normal carry-out restaurant, "you want to tell me what's going on?"

McGee let out an exasperated sigh. "You just can't let it go, can you?"

"Nope."

"Fine. I haven't been sleeping well. Satisfied?"

"'Sleeping well' or 'sleeping at all', Probie?"

McGee huffed. "Not much at all."

"Why not?" McGee remained silent, a mulish expression on his face. "Come on, man. Talk to me."

"I'm really not in the mood to be mocked, Tony."

"Would I do that?" McGee sent him one of his 'uh, _yeah_' looks. "Listen, you're my partner, and I'm supposed to look out for you. Obviously this is something pretty serious. You can tell me."

McGee sighed again. "I've been having nightmares." He shot Tony a warning glance. "Don't even think about it."

"Nightmares about what?" McGee tried to wave him off, but Tony persisted. "Do they have anything to do with your little trip to Florida?"

"What?"

"Gibbs told us you went down to help with a cold case, but you've been off ever since you came back. What happened down there?"

"Tony…"

"Tell me."

McGee remained silent for the next few blocks. Tony was ready to ask him again when he finally spoke.

"What do you know about Gregory Wayne Talbot?"

It took Tony a moment to remember where he'd heard the name before. "The Jacksonville Cannibal? He was a serial killer operating in Florida back in the late 80's. I'm pretty sure he's been scheduled for his government-sanctioned dirt nap by now."

"He was. His execution was a week ago."

"So what does this have to do with…?"

"Before he was executed, he agreed to reveal the location of his last victim…to the person who witnessed her murder."

"It was a kid, right? They caught Talbot because of that witness, but they protected the kid's identity during the trial. You went down there to help track him down?"

"Not exactly."

"Then what…oh. Crap. You were the witness?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, man. Tim, I'm sorry…"

"Yeah. Me, too. Let's just say that trip stirred up some bad memories."

"I can imagine."

Tim chuckled softly, without humor. "No, trust me, you can't."

Tony drove in silence for a few more blocks as he tried to figure out how to help his partner. Finally he had an idea.

"You need something to distract you, to take your mind off of it. We could—"

"Not everything can be solved by bar hopping or watching movies, Tony," McGee replied sharply and then blushed. "Sorry, I know you're trying to help."

"Maybe you should talk to someone about this. Ducky?"

"Yeah, that might work. It's just…I spent a good part of my life trying to forget and then…I thought it was over."

"Well it is. Talbot's dead, you're back where you belong…and you've got a bunch of people that have your back. It will get better."

"Who are you, and what have you done with Tony?" McGee asked with a slight smirk.

Tony cuffed him lightly on the arm. "Smart ass."

McGee grinned but the expression quickly faded. "Thanks, man."

"Hey, that's what partners are for."

They retrieved the team's take out order and returned to the Yard. Tony thought McGee was starting to look more relaxed, and he was going to suggest that the younger man head home to get some sleep, but when they stepped out of the elevator that idea was quickly driven from his mind. Fornell and another man were standing in front of Gibbs' desk, and the lead agent's expression indicated it wasn't a social call.

"What are you doing here, Fornell?" Tony asked, sensing his partner's tension and deciding to run interference.

The man with Fornell turned to examine the newcomers. "Agent McGee?" McGee nodded stiffly. "Special Agent Richard Thorne, Jacksonville Field Office. I'm here to take you into protective custody."

"Why?" McGee asked, but Tony got the distinct impression that he already knew the answer.

"The District Attorney's Office in Jacksonville requested our assistance."

McGee huffed in annoyance. "I told Brighton I don't need—"

"A.D.A. Brighton is _dead_, McGee," Fornell replied.

"_What?"_

"He was found in his home early this morning. Murdered."

"But what makes you think this has anything to do with—"

"He's not the first. Five people associated with the case have been murdered in the last week."

"What case?" asked Ziva, stepping up behind McGee and grabbing his arm when it looked like he would collapse due to the news he had just received. "What is going on? What do these deaths have to do with McGee?"

"Talbot," McGee replied, and any progress Tony though he had made vanished. "They found the leak, didn't they? There _was_ a supporter left, one they missed."

"Would someone mind telling me what the Hell is going on?" sounded a voice from the balcony and they all looked up to see Vance standing on the catwalk, appearing distinctly annoyed.

"Maybe we should take this to one of the conference rooms," Fornell suggested. "I don't think we'll all fit in your usual office, Gibbs."

Gibbs shot Fornell a dirty look but stood and followed the FBI agent, motioning for his team to join him. McGee led the way, a resigned look on his face, but stopped when Gibbs stepped into his path.

"Boss, I'm sorry—"

"Not your fault, Tim. Come on." Gibbs put a comforting hand on Tim's shoulder and guided him towards the conference room as the rest of the team followed. They were soon joined by Vance and once everyone was inside and seated—with McGee's team surrounding him—Gibbs addressed the FBI agents.

"What happened?"

After a quick silent exchange between the two agents, Thorne opened his briefcase and removed a folder, which he opened and spread the contents out in front of him. He held up one the pictures, a mugshot, the sight of which caused McGee to flinch.

"Gregory Wayne Talbot, convicted murderer of fifteen women. He was tried and sentenced to death over twenty years ago after a kid saw him kill his last victim." Thorne held up a second picture. "Judge Nelson Hanover. He presided over Talbot's trial, and was found dead in his office two days after Talbot's execution." He held up another picture and the rest of the team, minus Gibbs, flinched along with McGee. "No useful physical evidence was recovered from the scene." He put the first two pictures down and held up another picture. "Retired District Attorney Mark Feldman, prosecution for the case. Also dead, two days after Hanover was killed. Same situation." Another picture, more gruesome than the last scene photo. Thorne put those down and held up a fifth picture. "Alonzo Mendez, attorney for the defendant. He spent the last twenty-three years filing every appeal possible. Found dead in his home the day after Feldman was killed." A sixth picture. "Retired FBI Special Agent Dennis Tortellli. Two days ago." A seventh picture. "Assistant District Attorney Paul Brighton. He handled Talbot's last request: he'd give up the location of his final victim in exchange for meeting with the star witness for the case, the kid who saw him kill his final victim and helped the police track down Talbot. As you know, Brighton was murdered early this morning." Thorne held up the final picture and Ziva gasped. The image was obviously old, but the person pictured was still recognizable as the man they all knew. "The star witness for the case."

"We'll take care of McGee," Gibbs declared. "You focus on finding the bastard who's after him."

Before Thorne could protest, Vance interrupted. "What do you know so far?"

"Nothing, that's the problem. No witnesses, no evidence, and no video of any of the victims near the time of their deaths. The security cameras in every case malfunctioned. Nothing but static."

"No physical evidence at all?"

"None that can't be associated with legitimate activity, and so far there hasn't been a connection between any of those people. The only connection we do have is the victims' involvement in Talbot's case. We've been checking at the prison, with the guards, and anyone else who might have had access. So far, nothing."

"Look harder."

"Trust me, Gibbs," Fornell replied as he put a hand on Thorne's arm to prevent the other man from tearing into the NCIS agent. "We've been looking. Whoever this is, he's extremely diligent, he knows forensics, and he knows just how to escape detection. We suspect it's someone with good tech skills, but—"

"So let McGee help track him down."

"Can't. Conflict of interest."

"It's in _our_ interest to keep McGee alive. If you need someone with the skills to find this guy—"

"We have our people on it. We're hoping that by limiting access to McGee, it will give us more time, or this guy will make a mistake. If he does, we'll be ready. In the meantime—"

"McGee stays with us. We'll protect him."

"NCIS doesn't have the resources that we do, Agent Gibbs," Thorne protested. "We're perfectly capable of keeping him safe."

"You might be, but I _know_ my people will take care of him." Gibbs turned to McGee, who still looked like he was in shock. "You hear me, Tim? No one is going to hurt you, not on my watch."

"Or mine," said Tony and Ziva together, and each placed a comforting hand on his arms. McGee smiled weakly and nodded.

"Got it."

"I'll arrange for McGee to be transported to one of our safehouses—"

"Please, Director Vance, I'd really rather stay here. At least here I can still get some work done."

"You need to get some _sleep_, Agent McGee. Anyone can see you're exhausted."

"I wish I could…"

"I'll speak to Dr. Mallard. He should be able to help you in that area."

"DiNozzo, David, go to McGee's apartment and get what he needs for a few days."

"Gibbs, we have no idea how long this is going to take—"

"Then you better work faster, Thorne."

Thorne turned to Fornell, obviously hoping for the older man to back him up, but Fornell just gave him a look that clearly said '_I told you so._' With a snort of disgust, Thorne gathered up his photos and stuffed them back in his briefcase before slamming it shut.

"NCIS, of course, will provide any assistance you might require to resolve this matter," said Vance, and Tony thought he could detect the barest hint of humor in the man's voice. "Anything for our sister agencies."

"Yeah, right. Come on, Fornell, we have work to do."

"Always a pleasure, Gibbs," Fornell said with a smirk. "My condolences, Agent McGee. We'll do our best to catch this guy as soon as possible."

Tony grinned. He couldn't let this one pass. "'Losers whine about their best, winners go home and—' Thanks, Boss."

Fornell chuckled at Thorne's shock when he witnessed the headslap. "Don't ask, Rick. Let's go."

After the agents left, Gibbs turned to his team. "Get going, DiNozzo. You and Ziva be careful, is that clear?"

"On it, Boss."

"Yes, Gibbs."

"McGee, I'll call Ducky and have him meet us in Abby's lab. Vance is right, you need to sleep before you can do anything else."

"Boss, really, I'm fine. I can—"

"That's an order, McGee."

"Yes, Boss."

"I'll call in extra security, and I'll speak to the FBI Director. We need this resolved quickly, for everyone's sake."

"Thanks, Leon."

"Gonna need your keys, McGee," said Tony, and the younger man reluctantly handed them over.

"Please—"

"I will make sure he does not make a mess, McGee."

"I was going to say, please be careful."

"I was born careful, McGee."

"Yeah, right Tony…"

Slightly more than an hour later, Ziva and Tony returned with a few days worth of clothes and other necessities for McGee, which they decided to deliver to Abby's lab where McGee was presumably sleeping. She met them in the hallway outside her lab, urging them to be quiet.

"He just went to sleep about twenty minutes ago. Ducky gave him something to help, but he was so…freaked out that it took awhile to work. What's going on? Gibbs said McGee is under house arrest for his own protection. Protection from what?"

"A killer," Ziva replied and Abby gasped. "McGee was involved in a case a long time ago and someone is killing everyone that had some role in the case. He has killed five people so far, and the FBI feels that McGee may be next on the list."

"How was McGee involved?"

"He was a witness. Trust me, Abbs, you really don't want to know the details."

"But…poor Timmy. So the FBI is going after who did this? They're going to let us work on the evidence, right? I better—" She turned back towards the lab but Tony grabbed her arm to stop her.

"Yes, the FBI is going after him, and no, they're not letting us work on the evidence. Mainly because they don't _have_ any to give us."

"How could someone kill five people and not leave any evidence?"

"Well, that's the $65,000 question."

Before Abby could reply, the silence of the lab was shattered by a blood-curdling scream.

* * *

A/N: Tony quotes Sean Connery in _The Rock_.

The story is complete, with three more chapters to go. I'll post one per day until it's done.


	5. Chapter 4

A Nightmare on M Street

Chapter 4

Timmy leaned back against the relatively cool concrete wall of the culvert pipe and closed his eyes, happy to have escaped the brutal Florida sun almost as much as his current group of tormentors. His father had been transferred to the nearby base only two months ago, but Timmy was already sick of the place. He hated the heat, the bugs, and most of all the bullies intent on picking on the smaller and younger boy who had already skipped one grade. Timmy hoped he could skip a couple more so he could be in Junior High, because Elementary school sucked.

He had almost nodded off to sleep when he heard the rumble of an engine. He decided it had to be teenagers, or maybe grownups that were out in this area to get away from everyone else, just like him. He knew that when grownups wanted to get away from everyone else, they usually wanted to be left alone, so he decided to remain hidden. Hopefully they wouldn't stay too long and he could enjoy his own peace and quiet. Soon he heard voices—a man's and a woman's-near the end of the culvert and he moved further back into the darkness. He knew they wouldn't be able to see him, but he could still see when they left.

He continued to watch the entrance and eventually the owners of those voices came into view. The woman was young, barely out of her teens, and very pretty, with long blonde hair and brown eyes. The man was maybe ten years older, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. He looked like someone who might be in the movies as one of the leading men, but there was something about him, the way he was smiling at the woman that sent a chill down Timmy's spine, although he couldn't say why.

Just as he started to wonder why they were out there in the first place, they started kissing, and Timmy wrinkled his nose in disgust. He quickly decided he shouldn't be watching them and closed his eyes, but the noises they were making made it all too clear what was going on. He started to move further away, back towards the other entrance of the culvert when suddenly the woman spoke and the fear in her voice caught his attention.

"What are you doing? No, stop!"

He turned and looked back in time to see the man put a knife to the woman's throat. The man smiled and before Timmy even realized what was happening, the man slashed the blade through her neck, sending a spray of blood that spattered across the entrance of the culvert. The man dropped the woman to the ground and Timmy watched, horrified, as the blood continued to pump from the gash, staining the ground around her a deep crimson. Against his will his eyes locked with hers and he saw the light in them go out as the last of her blood was pumped through the wound. He barely managed to tear his gaze away as the man reached down and started to drag her from the clearing. He could hear the man chuckling softly to himself.

"That was almost too easy…"

The grip of fear that had held Timmy in place finally broke and he started to back away, as quietly as possible. Once the man was out of sight he turned and bolted down the culvert towards the far entrance, blindly crawling through the dark but too terrified to care. He was almost at the other end when he saw that something was blocking the entrance. It was a car, and he knew instinctively that it was _that_ man's car. He was trapped.

He backed up until he was out of sight of the entrance and desperately tried to figure out what to do as he fought to control his panic. In a moment of clarity, he noticed the license plate: _CPU 50J_. A Florida plate, from Duval County. _He lives around here…_ Timmy remembered—he'd seen it on TV-how the police could use license plates to track down criminals. They could use it to find the man, if he could just _tell_ them.

Soon he heard someone approaching the car and he pressed himself against the wall of the culvert, praying he wouldn't be seen. He saw the man reappear, still dragging the woman's body, which he dropped near the entrance as he searched for his keys and opened the trunk of the car. Timmy couldn't help stare at the woman's body, and he thought for the briefest moment that he saw a pleading expression in her wide, brown eyes. The illusion was broken when the man picked her up and unceremoniously dumped her in the trunk before he slammed the lid shut. The man then climbed in the driver's seat, started the engine—which sounded impossibly loud to Timmy's ears—and drove off in a cloud of dust. Timmy repeated the license number over and over so he wouldn't forget. He _couldn't_ forget. The man had to be caught.

After several minutes had passed and he was sure the coast was clear, Timmy crawled out of the culvert and started to run towards the road. The sun beat down on him, and he was soon bathed in sweat, but he pressed on. He had to find someone and tell them.

Suddenly, the scene changed.

Tim found himself standing in a long corridor, black walls stretching in either direction, seemingly unending.

_Where am I?_

He glanced down the corridor in both directions, looking for something familiar, but this was entirely new. He'd never been here before, he was sure of it.

_"Hello? Is anyone here?"_

Soon he heard footsteps, a slow, almost leisurely pace. He waited for the source of the sound to appear but there was nothing. He tried to determine the direction from which the footsteps were approaching, but when he did, he couldn't decide if he should move towards or away from whoever—or _whatever_-it was that was stalking him.

Suddenly a dark figure appeared at the far end of the corridor and Tim felt a flood of terror unlike anything he had felt in his life. He immediately turned and ran in the other direction, stumbling slightly as his limbs fought to work in tandem. As he ran he could see the walls starting to ripple and bulge as if something was trying to get through. He shied away from the strange sight and tried to run faster, but the floor seemed to turn into mire and he struggled to keep moving through the gelatinous mass. He had almost reached the end of the corridor and the stairs leading away from it when he heard a dark chuckle behind him, terrifyingly close. He turned and saw the dark figure now looming over him, a long, sharp, shining blade in one hand.

_No…_

He saw a flash as the blade descended, slicing into his side and sending a wave of agony through him. He threw up his arms to protect himself as the blade was raised and as it came down again, slashing across his upraised forearm, he let out all of his terror and pain in one agonized scream.

XXX

Ziva grabbed Abby as she started to run towards the lab after Tony, who had started to move the instant he had heard the scream. He pulled out his gun as he ran, thankful that he hadn't yet been back to his desk to lock it away, and paused at the door to quickly sweep the room. He could hear Abby's protests ringing through the hall and he held up a hand to silence her-or at least have Ziva silence her-as he looked for signs of an intruder.

The main lab was empty and he rushed through to clear the ballistics lab and then Abby's office where he could see McGee struggling to rise from the futon. The younger man's eyes were wide with terror as he tried to get to his feet and Tony reached him in time to keep McGee from face-planting on the floor.

"McGee? Tim, what happened?" McGee was practically hyperventilating so Tony grabbed McGee's arm and he let out a yelp of pain. Tony checked and saw his hand was covered with blood.

"Tim, what happened? Who was here?" Tony glanced around, cursing himself for apparently missing the intruder, but there was no sign that anyone had been in the lab. How had they gotten to McGee? He lowered McGee back to the floor and grabbed Abby's spare lab coat to wrap around his rapidly bleeding arm, only to discover another wound in his side.

"Damn, McGee, we need to get you to a hospital. What the hell happened?"

"I…I d-don't…k-now…"

Suddenly there was a commotion at the door and Abby rushed in, followed closely by Ziva. When they observed the scene in her office, Abby shrieked.

"TIMMY!"

McGee flinched and tried to back away as the forensic scientist came barreling towards them. Fortunately Ziva was faster and managed to catch her before she reached the traumatized man.

"Abby, stop! McGee, are you—" She caught sight of the blood and winced. "I will call for an ambulance. I will also send out an alert and put the Yard on lockdown, but we will get you out of here, McGee, and we will find who did this."

"No…please…no ambulance. I'm OK. Just…Ducky can fix it."

"How did this happen?" Ziva asked as she quickly dialed Ducky's number. "There was no one here. One of us would have seen them."

"I…d-don't k-know."

Tony could see that McGee was still under the effects of whatever Ducky had given him earlier, as well as the trauma from what had just happened. He doubted they'd get anything coherent out of the man for awhile. Abby had quieted down and was now sitting with McGee, supporting him from the other side as she pressed a cloth against his wound. She spoke softly to him, trying to offer some comfort, but from the tremors Tony could feel coursing through the other man's body, he knew her efforts weren't having much effect.

Soon Gibbs arrived, followed by Ducky and Palmer. Ducky and Palmer quickly moved to help McGee while Gibbs confronted his agents.

"What in the hell happened? How did someone get in here?"

"We do not know, Gibbs. We did not see anything. We were all just outside the door the entire time."

"There's no way someone could have gotten past us, Boss. It doesn't make any damn sense."

"Abby, get the security footage. Someone must have seen something."

Abby glanced at McGee and nodded. "I'll find who did this, Gibbs. Nobody hurts my Timmy." She left and Gibbs walked over to crouch down next to his injured agent.

"How are you doing, Tim?"

"I've b-been better, Boss."

"What do you remember?"

"I…I was asleep. Dreaming. The same…nightmare I've had…for over a week, but…something changed."

"What changed?"

"I…I was in a hallway…black walls…something was…stalking me. Chasing me. I couldn't get away. And then…I felt the knife."

"Did you see who it was?"

"No…too dark. Sorry, Boss."

"Duck? How is he?"

"The wound in his side was not deep enough to hit anything vital but it will need stitches, as will the cut on his arm. We really should get you to a hospital, Timothy."

"Not safe."

"Neither is here, apparently," Ducky replied and turned his attention back to Gibbs. "I'm more concerned about his sleep deprivation. He needs rest, Jethro. The hospital is the best place for him." He leaned down to speak to McGee again. "You'll be well guarded, Timothy. We can promise you that."

Anything McGee might have said was interrupted by the arrival of Vance and two armed guards. Gibbs filled him in and he grunted in disgust.

"We've finished the sweep. There's no one here now. What I can't figure is how they got here in the first place."

"That makes two of us, Leon, but we'll figure it out."

"I hope so. I'm not losing another agent. I'll contact the FBI to see if they've found anything, yet." Vance left as Tony and Jimmy helped McGee to his feet. The younger agent swayed a minute before they were able to get him seated on one of Abby's rolling chairs, although McGee started to protest when he realized what they were doing.

"We are taking you to the hospital, Tim. It's not open for discussion. We can still call an ambulance, you know."

"No…OK, I'll go. But you guys can take me. I don't want…"

"You will not be alone, McGee. We will make sure of it."

"OK…"

Two hours later McGee was settled into a room at Bethesda, guarded by the rest of his team. Abby called to let them know that the security footage had been compromised and showed nothing but static for the area outside the lab. The FBI hadn't found anything yet and further sweeps of the Yard had still turned up nothing.

Tony watched his partner sleep and sighed. McGee didn't deserve something like this, all because of what he had seen as a kid, and because some sicko sympathized with a killer. He could only hope they caught the guy before he did any more damage to McGee.

After a quiet night, McGee was released the next morning. He insisted on going back to work, despite the protests of his team.

"I'm not going to live in fear, Boss. That means this guy wins. I'll be fine. There's no way he could get to me a second time, right?"

The rest of the day was spent on the case they had been working on before the FBI arrived, and soon they had the connections they needed to show the petty officer's death was most likely a homicide. By the end of the day they had corralled their suspects, a group of small-time drug dealers who confessed that they had decided to eliminate the competition. The petty officer had organized his own group of drug runners, setting off a turf war that ended in his death. With their confession, and the names of the petty officer's employees in hand, all that was left was the paperwork.

They had decided that McGee would stay at NCIS, and that the most secure place was Ducky's office. Tony offered to take the first watch, ignoring McGee's protests that he didn't need a babysitter. Even though he had managed a full night's sleep at Bethesda, Tony could tell that McGee was not yet back to full capacity. He needed at least another night of peace and Tony doubted he would get it without the knowledge that someone had his back. Tony promised to behave himself and not pull any pranks on the younger man, eliciting a smile from his Probie, and Tony was relieved to see McGee relax a bit more.

After McGee was asleep on the air mattress that Abby had brought him, Tony leaned back and started to read the magazine he had brought to keep him company. After a while, though, he lost interest and started to study McGee instead. He was still having a hard time wrapping his mind around the fact that his friend had witnessed such horrible things when he was younger. McGee had always seemed relatively well adjusted. He wondered now if that was a result of the treatment he'd no doubt received following such trauma.

Several hours passed and the call of nature became hard to ignore. Deciding that McGee would be OK for a few minutes, he snuck out to the restroom. On his way back, he heard a small cry of protest and ran to Ducky's office, afraid of what he would find. McGee was in the apparent throes of one of his nightmares, thrashing about and whispering "no" over and over. Tony decided that he'd better wake his friend to spare him further trauma, but before he could reach him, McGee threw up his arms as if to protect himself and, to Tony's horror, a deep cut appeared on McGee's upturned palm. McGee screamed as another deep gash appeared, this time across his stomach, and Tony surged forward to grab his partner.

"McGee, wake up!"

McGee bolted upright, gasping for breath, and then curled inward as the pain obviously hit. Tony searched the office and found something to press against McGee's wounds, his mind trying to deny what he had seen, and failing miserably.

Finally McGee was able to direct his attention away from his pain and to the senior agent.

"W-what happened? Did you…did you catch him? H-how did he…?"

"Tim…I'm not sure you're going to believe me, but there was no one here."

"Then how…?"

Tony just shook his head and pulled out his phone before he quickly dialed a number.

"Boss, it's Tony. We've got a problem…"


	6. Chapter 5

A Nightmare on M Street

Chapter 5

Tim lay on the autopsy table, the coldness of the metal beneath him barely registering as he watched Ducky, assisted by Palmer, repair his newest set of wounds. The M.E. voiced his frustration that Timothy would not allow himself to be taken to the hospital to have the procedure done, but Tim had adamantly refused. Even though the attacks had occurred at the Yard, despite its security, he still felt safer here, with his team, than anywhere else. Unfortunately that wasn't saying much at the moment.

He could hear Tony pacing back and forth and Tim really wished he would stop. The senior agent, more on edge than Tim had ever seen him, had voiced his theory on the attacks before the rest of the team had arrived. At first Tim had wanted, no, _needed_ to believe that Tony was joking, using one of his normal coping mechanisms, but when he realized his partner was sincere he wasn't sure which was more terrifying: the possibility that Tony had lost his senses, or the possibility that he was right. Tim wondered briefly how his life has suddenly become a horror movie before the reality of his injuries told him all this, at least as far as he could tell, _wasn't_ a dream.

Gibbs and Ziva had arrived just a few minutes ago and after they had checked the area once again, Gibbs demanded to know what had happened.

"McGee was asleep," Tony explained, "and I needed to use the head. Nothing had happened all night, and…" Tim could see Tony's frustration and anger with himself and felt a twinge of guilt. This was all _his_ fault, after all. Not Tony's.

"You left him alone."

"Just for a minute, but when I came back, I could tell he was having a nightmare, and then-I swear to you Boss, I saw this with my own eyes—those cuts just appeared. Nothing was there to make them." Tony ran a rough hand over his face. "I think Talbot's gone and pulled a Freddy Krueger."

"Who?"

"You've never heard…? _A Nightmare on Elm Street_? Classic 80's horror? Dead killer with finger knives?"

"Get to the point, DiNozzo."

"He was killing people while they were asleep. He'd get into their dreams, and…look, I know what I saw!"

"This isn't a movie, Tony."

"Anthony, I realize you have been sleep deprived as well, and one of the symptoms of that deficiency is the appearance of hallucinations."

"Ducky, I was wide awake, and I wasn't hallucinating. How else do you explain that?" he yelled, pointing at Tim's freshly stitched cuts.

"Stigmata?" offered Palmer, and blushed at the collective glare he received. "Sorry."

"Ignoring any supernatural explanation, I'm afraid I'm at a loss. Unless, of course, one of you two is responsible and for some unfathomable reason you're trying to cover it up," Ducky held up his hand as both men began to protest, "and yet I find _that_ just as unlikely as anything Anthony has presented. None of this makes sense."

"Maybe you were both drugged. That could explain why you didn't see anything," Palmer suggested.

"How would they have gotten the drugs to us?"

"Ventilation system?"

"Still doesn't explain how they got in or out without being seen, and it sure as hell doesn't explain what _I_ saw!"

"What if Tony is right?" Ziva asked, ignoring the glare Gibbs gave her. "As I have told you before, I have been trained that not everything can be easily explained by natural means."

"So we're back to supernatural explanations. What is it then? A ghost? Demon? I don't think I can buy that, Ziva."

"Wasn't it Sherlock Holmes who said, 'when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, _however improbable_, must be the truth?'"

"Really not helping here, Palmer."

"And I am not completely sure that we have yet eliminated the impossible, but given our lack of other ideas…"

"Any thoughts on this, Tim?"

Tim had barely been listening, ever since a memory from his meeting with Talbot surfaced.

"_Oh Timmy, one more thing…Sweet dreams."_

"Boss, I think…I think Tony might be right."

Stunned silence greeted his statement and he struggled to explain. "When I went to see Talbot, as I was leaving…he mentioned dreams. I'm as much of a skeptic about this stuff as anyone, Boss, but…I don't believe in coincidences, either." He took a deep breath. "And there's another thing: from the first time I saw him, I knew there was something…_wrong_ about him, Boss. Brighton mentioned it, too. Talbot is…was…_evil_. I can't explain it any other way." He held up his hands to show the wounds. "And these match what I saw in my nightmare. As much as I hate to admit it…I think this goes way beyond anyone's pay grade."

"You think he killed the rest of the people involved in the case? Killed them in their dreams?"

"It explains why there was no evidence, Boss. If Talbot is…whatever he is, it's not natural, and…I guess it wouldn't follow natural laws like leaving evidence behind."

"But if he attacks you in your sleep, why didn't he while you were at Bethesda? You slept there and nothing happened."

"Maybe he didn't want an audience, and—"

"—you were never alone there," Tony finished and winced. "I'm sorry, man, I shouldn't have left you."

"It's OK, Tony. You didn't know."

"So now what? McGee can never sleep without someone being there with him?"

"Why not? We can take turns watching him, at least until we figure this out."

"Or I could just not sleep," McGee added with a weak smile. "I've done that before."

"Yes, but there are limits, Timothy. Sleep is vital for retaining not only cognitive functions, but also for healing and repair of free radical damage. Total lack of sleep will eventually lead to organ failure and death."

"How long before that occurs?"

"Eleven days." They all turned to stare at Palmer again. "I mean, that's the longest documented time anyone's gone without any sleep."

"We're not gonna let it get that bad. Any other suggestions?"

"Well…" Tony glanced around at his team. "In the movie they stopped Freddy by turning their back on him, taking away his power."

"Yeah, and if I remember correctly, that didn't work out too well for them in the very end," muttered Tim. "Any other ideas?"

"Perhaps you will have to fight him in your dreams," Ziva suggested. "If he can only exist there, and you destroy him…"

"How? I can't control my dreams, Ziva. Trust me, I've tried."

"Then you must learn. In the meantime, you still need more sleep, McGee, if you expect to be able to function. I will watch over you this time. Tony needs his sleep, too."

"As if I'm going to be able to sleep, now," Tony muttered and Tim understood his worry.

"I don't think he can come after you, Tony. Talbot never met you when he was alive."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Probie."

"Any time."

"I have a better question: how will we explain all of this to the Director?"

"I'll think of something, Duck. Ziva, find a place for Tony and McGee to crash. I'll get a hold of Abby in the morning to see if she can find anything on tonight's feed." He held up his hand when Tony started to protest. "Still not sure about the supernatural explanation, but I'll keep an open mind."

"Thanks, Boss. Come on, Probie, I think there's room for the airbed in Abby's lab. I'm sure as hell not sleeping down here for the rest of the night."

They dragged Tim's bed up to the lab and once they had it and Abby's futon set up, both men lay down and tried to sleep while Ziva kept watch. Tim's mind was still whirling and sleep eluded him at first as he went over everything in his mind. Was this real, or had he, because of his deprivation, finally lost his mind? Could he really learn to control his dreams, to defeat the monster that had haunted them for year, once and for all? Would any of them survive this?

Finally the siren call of sleep pulled him under and he drifted off into unconsciousness.

And dreamed.

The nightmare started as it always did. He was back in that culvert pipe, witnessing Michelle Sumner's final moments, but this time, as he was watching her bleed out she spoke to him.

"_Stop him…"_

He backed away, moving deeper into the pipe, and suddenly he felt something behind him. He turned and saw the woman, but this time she was whole and unharmed.

"_You can stop him, Timmy. Just like you did before, but this time you can make it permanent."_

"_But how?"_ His own voice sounded young and terrified, but she didn't seem to notice his fear as she smiled. _"Remember the rules…"_

"_Rules? What rules?"_ She smiled again and vanished. Suddenly Tim found himself in that dark corridor again.

"_No. He's not going to get to me. Not this time."_

Tim started to walk in the opposite direction that he had always gone and after only a few minutes he reached a staircase that ascended towards the light. He climbed the stairs and emerged into the bright sunlight. He looked around and saw ahead of him the police station where he had gone after he witnessed the murder. He walked inside…and saw himself as a child, explaining what he had seen to the officer who had taken his statement…and used it to start the search.

"_You did good, kid. Real good. This is really going to help us."_

The child version of himself looked up and met his gaze. _"We can beat this. We'll do good again."_

Tim smiled back and the scene vanished. Everything was quiet, and for the first time in years, Tim began to believe he could beat the nightmare. He just needed time to figure out how.

Tim spent the next week being watched over by the rest of his team, both while he was awake and while he slept. Tim's dreams had been uneasy, but never progressing to the nightmare quality they had when he slept alone. They had, however, gotten closer to that limit as the week wore on. He could almost sense that Talbot was waiting in the shadows of his subconscious, biding his time until Tim was once again alone in his nightmares and vulnerable, the perfect opportunity for Talbot to exact his revenge.

Tim had worked to control his dreams, as Ziva had suggested, and he found he could now stop the movie reel that played in his mind, but only for a limited time. It wasn't enough but, sensing the toll all of this was taking on the rest of his team, he knew that soon he would have to confront his fears head on.

The opportunity arose unexpectedly a little over a week after the first attack. The team caught a new case, another murdered petty officer, and Gibbs ordered Tim to stay behind as the rest headed out. As luck would have it, it was also a day that Abby had to be in court, so her lab would be deserted. He would be completely alone.

Tim worked for two more hours after the team left as he tried to work up his nerve. Finally, when he felt that he was as ready as he would ever be, he headed down to Abby's lab. If this worked, they could finally return to their normal routine. If not, he had prepared for that eventuality. Six envelopes in his desk drawer contained notes to his colleagues, apologizing for bringing them into this mess and thanking them for trying to help. It was up to him to end this once and for all, and if he didn't make it out alive…he hoped they would understand.

Abby's lab was quiet when he stepped through the sliding glass doors and made his way to her office where the futon that had been his only bed for over a week was stored. He rolled the mattress out on the floor and lay down on it as he closed his eyes and hoped for sleep to come quickly.

XXX

Tony put the last of the equipment back in the van and slammed the door shut, anxious to get back to the Yard. He'd hate leaving McGee behind, not because they extra pair of hands would have made the job easier, but because he was worried about his Probie. McGee had been strangely quiet over the past few days, even more so than usual. The rest of the team figured it was because he was still trying to come to terms with what had happened, just as they were themselves. Gibbs had never said anything since that night but he knew that the lead agent was troubled. It was a lot to process, the stuff they'd been through. Tony wondered if McGee was really working things through, or if something else was going on. Tony had the strange growing feeling that something worse was on its way. He just wished he knew why.

The ride back was relatively silent, and after they had submitted the evidence to the storage unit they returned to the bullpen to start analyzing the rest of what they had. The tension that Tony had first felt when they left McGee alone had increased to uncomfortable levels and when they stepped off the elevator it reached a sudden, screaming peak.

McGee's desk was empty.

Tony immediately ran to the restroom, hoping to find a legitimate reason for McGee to be away from his desk, but the room was unoccupied. With a horrible sinking feeling he realized where Tim must have gone.

"Damn it!" He turned to find Gibbs and Ziva right behind him. "McGee's not here. I think he went down to Abby's lab."

"But Abby is in court today. There is no one…oh, no."

"He went down there to be alone."

The three of them ran for the stairs. When they reached the lab they immediate went to Abby's office, but the door was locked. They could see Tim lying on his side on the futon, obviously fast asleep.

"Get this damn door open," growled Gibbs as he banged on the window. "McGee, wake up! That's an order." McGee never stirred and for a moment Tony feared they were too late. He finally managed to get the door open and they rushed into the office, calling McGee's name. He didn't wake.

Tony knelt down next to him and felt for a pulse, relieved when he detected the steady, slow beat beneath his fingertips. Suddenly, McGee's pulse quickened and Tony could see his eyes moving rapidly under the lids. Tony felt his own breath catch in his throat when he realized what that meant.

"Come on, Tim. Damn it, wake up." Tony shook him, but McGee slept on.

And dreamed.

XXX

He was back in that long black-walled corridor, the sound of footsteps growing ever louder. Tim fought the urge to run. He knew it wouldn't help. Talbot would catch him, and then…

Soon the dark shadow appeared, growing larger as it approached, yet Tim stood his ground. His mind raced as he tried to think of a way to confront the dark specter, but so far…

Suddenly he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned, surprised to see Michelle Sumner standing there. She smiled.

"You can beat him, Tim. Remember the rules."

"What does that mean? What rules?"

She remained silent but, much to Tim's surprise, she was soon joined by others: fourteen more women, all about the same age, all blonde. The victims.

"Help me," Tim pleaded. "How can I stop him?" Silence greeted him and he turned away, waiting for the monster to appear.

The approaching footsteps paused and then, before Tim could even blink, Talbot was standing in front of him, knife in hand.

"Well, well, well, look who we have here. Little Timmy has come out to play." He cocked his head and studied Tim for several moments before a cold, cruel smile formed on his face. "You're here because you think you can beat me. What are you going to do, deny I exist? Say I'm just a dream?" Faster than a striking snake, he slashed the knife across Tim's chest, drawing a burning line of pain. Tim gasped as he stumbled back but soon steadied himself and Talbot laughed. "That's not going to work, Timmy. You're helpless here. You can't beat me. You're unarmed, and I'm not." He slashed again and a second line appeared just below the first as Tim bit back a scream of pain.

A chorus of whispers arose around him and Tim strained to hear. _Remember the rules…_

"What are you going to do, Timmy? You have nothing. Nowhere to run, no weapon, NOTHING."

Suddenly, unexpectedly, it clicked, and a slow smile crossed Tim's face. "Remember the rules. I do. Rule Number Nine." And then, inexplicably, he felt the smooth polymer handle of his own personal blade as it appeared in his hand. "Never go anywhere without a knife." Before Talbot could react Tim buried the blade in Talbot's chest, straight into his heart.

"What…?"

Talbot tried to raise his own blade but it fell from his grasp. He stared at Tim with wide, horrified eyes.

"No…"

Tim stepped back as Talbot fell to his knees.

"How…?"

"Some good advice, and there's another rule there as well. Rule Number Five: you don't waste good." He saw Talbot's eyes widen even more and he turned to see the group of women had returned. He moved out of their way and they surround Talbot, closing in as he started to scream.

"NO!"

There was a bright flash of light that nearly blinded him and when Tim could see again, the group, and Talbot, was gone.

"You did good, kid."

He turned to see five new figures, one of which he recognized. He had met the man in person over two weeks ago. It seemed like a lifetime.

"You did real good," Brighton said, and smiled. The five men vanished and Tim sank to the floor, his strength gone. He didn't know how much time had passed before a new voice penetrated his thoughts.

"I think it's time to go, Tim." He looked up and saw his childhood self standing over him. He managed a grin.

"I couldn't agree more."

XXX

Tony watched in horror as first one gash appeared across McGee's chest, soon followed by a second. He chanced a look at Gibbs and Ziva and saw identical expressions of horror. He knew that Gibbs _finally_ believed him, but that was a small comfort compared to what they had to deal with now. Tony yanked off his jacket and pressed it against McGee's wounds, praying that the younger man would somehow wake up before more damage could be inflicted, but he remained still under Tony's hands.

"Boss, what do we do if he doesn't wake up?"

"He'll wake up," Gibbs replied automatically, but Tony wasn't sure if he really believed it. They waited, fearing that more cuts would appear but nothing happened. The minutes ticked buy and then, to their amazement, McGee opened his eyes.

"Tim? You OK?" Gibbs asked as Tony and Ziva held their breath as they waited for an answer.

"It's over," McGee whispered. "I…took care…of it. He's gone."

"How?" Tony blurted out before he could help himself, and McGee smiled weakly.

"I remembered…the rules."

Before his team could ask any more questions, McGee closed his eyes and fell in to a deep, well-deserved, and dreamless sleep.


	7. Epilogue

A Nightmare on M Street

Epilogue

It had been two weeks since the final confrontation, three weeks since the FBI had first contacted the team, and still they had nothing. Fornell informed Gibbs that Thorne was almost beside himself, convinced that the whole thing was some sort of conspiracy to ruin his career, and that he personally, although unofficially, blamed Fornell for the whole mess. Gibbs said nothing, but Fornell suspected he knew a lot more than he was letting on. Par for the course.

Tim had finally returned to his apartment the day after his last dream about Talbot, happy to be home, and slightly amused that his teammates still insisted on staying with him. This led to more movie watching than he had ever cared to experience, although he had successfully put his foot down when Tony suggested a certain series of 80's horror "classics", threatening to make him sit through every 80's horror remake in existence if he persisted. He was backed up by both Ziva and Abby.

The old nightmares that had plagued Tim for years were finally gone. When he mentioned this to Ducky, the M.E. suggested that perhaps he didn't need them any longer, and that his role in the case that had spurned them was finally over and his conscience had allowed him a well deserved reprieve.

When his vacation time came up, Tim scheduled a flight—chartered, not commercial—to Jacksonville, where he paid a visit to several cemeteries in the area. He left a total of fifteen roses, one at each of fifteen graves, with the last and most recent still bearing the evidence of its creation.

A book about Talbot's life and death was published a year later, with the proceeds going to victim relief organizations. It sold well, even though the events following Talbot's execution were not mentioned. Many were surprised that the author, a previous New York Times Bestseller list alumnus, had switched to non-fiction. Others were not surprised at all.

As time went on, the memory of what the members of the MCRT had experienced faded to the point where some, but not all, wondered if all of it really just had been a dream. Of those who still remembered, they took comfort in the knowledge that, real or nightmare, it was truly and finally over.

Right?

The End


End file.
